


Day 14- Scars

by Broken_Clover



Series: Goretober 2019 [13]
Category: BlazBlue
Genre: Headcanon, M/M, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 17:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Amane just wants to have a nice night out without any issues, is that really too much to ask?





	Day 14- Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Mori where is the Amane lore

For as much of a looks-obsessed man as Amane Nishiki was, there was a puzzling lack of mirrors across his personal sleeping car. There were plenty scattered across the caravan as a whole- mostly in the dressing rooms so the boys could look over their makeup and decide if it was suitable for performing. But in Amane’s room, despite all the colorfully garish ribbons and frills lining just about everything, there was only one mirror, half-hidden by his sewing supplies.

It would have been foolish to not have any whatsoever, if he needed to do touch-ups or properly look at an injury. Unless it was needed at that very moment, though, the mirror stayed where it was, hardly visible. Amane was always meticulous in putting it back where it belonged.

Tonight, he wasn’t exactly in a meticulous mood. He burst into the room like an overexcited, pastel puppy, immediately getting to work undoing the layers on his kimono while digging through his closets in search of a different, prettier one.

“Oh no no, this simply won’t do!” He murmured to himself, pushing aside a heather-gray yukata patterned with wisteria blossoms. “Not _that_ casual!”

Showy, but not _too_ showy, that seemed to be how a lot of his style went. Amane was no fool, he knew there were some things that simply didn’t suit him. He always strove to look his finest, with garments that looked nice on him and accentuated his figure, rather than trying to look as gaudy as possible. Something like that might have attracted attention, but it wasn’t the attention he wanted.

“Wrong color, too extra, not extra enough...aha!” His lips upturned in a triumphant smile, and he snatched up a soft, off-white garment patterned up and down with cherry blossoms.

“Perfection! Ah, I just knew I had something for the occasion.”

He shed the last couple of layers onto his bed, sliding off his scarf along with it before slipping on the yukata. Amane made a pleased little sound from the way the material felt against his skin. This one was nice, maybe he should have worn it more often?

The dancer pulled a roll of fabric off of his mirror so he could get a better look at himself in it. Even without the obi tied on all the way, he had to say that he looked good. He definitely needed to find a more pastel-colored eyeliner, the one he had on was just too bold and didn’t quite match. Amane wasn’t quite sure yet.

As he tried to do a little twirl to see how the fabric moved, he felt the sash slip free from its half-done knot. The yukata started to slide off, and even as fast as Amane could catch it before it hit the ground, he found it slipping off of his shoulders and bunching in his arms, leaving the upper half of his chest free.

He knew he shouldn’t have stared at himself in the mirror, but something drew his eyes. Maybe it was the pretty fabric, or maybe it was because some part of him liked to torture itself and made him look anyway.

Amane could see the pink lines just barely sliding over his shoulder, like a bony hand gripping him from behind. Just the sight of them made a distant soreness run down his back. He’d hoped that somehow, once he’d gotten all of the Bystander abilities, that it would somehow make the old lines fade away. But it seemed that the nigh-invulnerability only worked on new wounds, and the old ones seemed insistent on staying where they were.

_“Get back in your box, you dirty whore! Don’t make me break your leg again!”_

The dancer felt his muscles tense. Without really thinking, he brought his arm across his chest and traced the scars’ ends until they slid out of his reach. They grew less straight and more lopsided the further down it went, made by an awkward strike with an unsteady hand.

_“I’m not gonna ask you twice. Get in, or I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”_

The fabric reel was thrown back over the mirror, along with whatever Amane could grab to put between himself and the reflective surface. He pulled the yukata back up over his shoulders, and tried to force his thoughts to anywhere else he could manage. Makeup. That was right, he needed to find something else to paint on. That was what mattered now, getting ready for a nice, normal night out.

Someone knocked at the door while he was halfway across one eye. He paused for a moment, only to continue and finish the long, sweeping line. “Come in, the door’s unlocked.”

“Huh? Is everything alright?” A shaggy head poked through the door, followed by a slightly less shaggy body. Bang had managed to fit himself into a nice jacket and to partially restrain his messy hair with something that, based on the smell, he’d definitely gotten from Litchi. It mixed well with the scent of flowers, wafting off of the pink lily bouquet that the man had brought with him.

“It’s nothing, dear. Are those for me?”

“Of course!” Bang beamed with pride. “I hope you like them. I will admit that I don’t know much about flowers, but I thought they looked-” He suddenly cut off, expression shifting as he finally got a good, close look at the other man. “Oh, you…”

Amane felt a cold unpleasantness from the way he was being stared at. “Is...something wrong with how I look?” He’d been afraid to uncover the mirror and see how everything looked. He had done the process enough times to know how it was supposed to look, but for all he knew, he could have looked like a complete disaster.

“No, no, not at all!” The ninja hastily backtracked, though still wearing the same wide-eyed expression. “You look beautiful. I simply wasn’t prepared for it.”

The heat rose to his cheeks. Amane turned away, idly flipping the clasps on his makeup case open and closed as he tried to think of something to say.

The bouquet came to rest in front of him, settled on his work desk. Strong, callused hands lightly grazed his chin, slowly turning it until he was looking Bang in the eyes.

“Nishiki? Are you sure everything’s alright?.”

Amane smiled, nowhere near as convincing as he would have liked. “I’m fine. So, dinner?”


End file.
